


The Holmes Pack

by nat_oliver



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 221B Baker Street, Alpha Mycroft, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Attempted Sexual Assault, BAMF Lestrade, Beta Greg, Case Fic, Delta John, Families of Choice, Friendship, Greg Lestrade IS the Police, Hurt/Comfort, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Mates, Mycroft IS the British Government, Nothing bad happens though, Omega Sherlock, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pack Dynamics, Sherlock is a Petulant Child, mystrade
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-28
Updated: 2016-10-28
Packaged: 2018-08-27 10:43:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8398519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nat_oliver/pseuds/nat_oliver
Summary: In a world where people are divided into Alphas, Betas, Omegas and Deltas,  four men will learn that the bonds of friendship, loyalty and love is what makes a Pack.Pack means family, and they will do anything to keep their family safe.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone!  
> This is the first time i'm writting Sherlock and I hope you like it.  
> I don't have a beta, sorry about any mistakes.

 

With slow, hesitant steps Sherlock Holmes made his way from the kitchen to the living room of his flat, the 32c on Montague Street. One hand was balancing a steaming mug of tea, while the other was placed protectively over his lower belly.

To get to the couch, the dark haired man had to sidestep several cardboard boxes filled with a new set of laboratory equipment he had yet to unpack - the one he had before had tragically exploded during an experiment - and several piles of books that were scattered around the living room. He placed the mug on a clear spot on the coffee table before sitting on the couch with a grunt of pain. He had run out of Tylenol ages ago and all he had now was that ridiculous fennel tea that - according to the inscription on the box - should help with his abdominal pain. Needless to say, Sherlock did not have much faith on the herbal miracles of that tea, but he had no other choice but to give it a try.

After drinking the tea - it had a horrible taste, by the way - Sherlock lay down on the couch, curling on himself. He tried to ignore the pain by focusing on the sounds of his flat: the leaky faucet in the kitchen sink; the sound of the footsteps of his neighbor in the apartment just above his; the rain and the wind outside...

However, his concentration was suddenly disturbed by the cheerful sound of Vivaldi coming from his cell phone, which was currently lost somewhere in that mess that was his flat.

 _"Ugh... leave me alone!"_ was Sherlock’s muffled - and not so cheerful - reply. He really was not in the mood to talk to anyone.

Because he was having cramps.

It wasn't something unusual for an omega to have abdominal cramps during the heat, but the ones Sherlock had were very bad. It was like being stabbed in his lower belly with a knife over and over again. That was the only way Sherlock could describe the pain he felt. So... no. He did not care that someone was calling him, he would not get up from the comfort of his couch to search for his phone. If it really was something important, whoever it was, would call again later.

Probably it was just his alpha brother Mycroft shoving his oversized nose where it wasn’t called, trying to control his every step with the lame excuse that he was just looking out for his younger brother.

Sherlock promptly ignored his phone until his flat was blissfully quiet again.

"Shit!" Sherlock hissed when another wave of pain shot through his lower belly, and he cursed - not for the first time - the humorless joke of the natural selection that made him an Omega.

Not only because of the heat - which was an unpleasant and uncomfortable ordeal - but an Omega, basically, had no freedom whatsoever. In the eyes of the law, they were like children who could not take care of themselves. They could not have stressful or dangerous jobs, they could not open bank accounts without the approval of their Alpha, and even so, their money was strictly controlled. They couldn't even go to the movies if the film was not classified _as "approved by the national association for the protection of the omega’s welfare"_. And, of course, they could not live alone. They had to live either with their Mate, the Alpha leader of the pack, or a caregiver, but never alone. Which was ridiculous. Sherlock was an adult and independent and he should be able to do whatever he wanted to do.

Ugh, life would be so much easier if he had been born an Alpha like his brother Mycroft, or even a Beta like Detective Lestrade.

It wasn't hard, really, pretending that he was a Beta. He had never been a common Omega to begin with. Where most Omegas - male and female - were gentle and fragile, smaller in height, with a more curvy shape and delicate features, Sherlock was quite the opposite. He was tall, lean, he had sharp cheekbones and he was far from being gentle and fragile. Only his eyes, which so rarely would glow an intense blue, betrayed his true nature. Everyone - except Mycroft - thought that he would present as an Alpha. So imagine his family - and his own - surprise when at the age of seventeen he presented as an omega, strangely late considering that the average age to present was thirteen. Mycroft had presented as an Alpha at the age of ten, the bastard.

It was then that he began to mask his scent with Beta pheromones and to take heat suppressants on a regular basis.

The _Noretin_ was the suppressant he had been taking since his first heat. He was aware that the drug was unpredictable and dangerous. He was also aware that keeping a prolonged use as he had been doing could cause permanent damage to his reproductive system, but he could not care less. Not when the result of taking the suppressants was the freedom to walk around without an alpha breathing down his neck. Also, when he decided to become a detective and help the Scotland Yard with crimes that only his brilliant mind could solve, his disguise had become even more necessary.

That's what he wanted to be doing right now. He wanted to be out there, chasing criminals through the alleys of London, not curled up on the sofa like an invalid. But he'd been so wrapped up with a case that week he had forgotten to take those damn pills and when he realized it, it was too late.

And the timing couldn't have been worst, it was right at a crime scene when he began to feel the first symptoms of his impending heat. The chills, the cramps, the fever, the unpleasant feeling of something _slick_ soiling his underwear. Fortunately, it was still early enough that his omega scent - which was floral, fruity and sweet as an orchard of peaches - wasn't noticeable yet. He had hurried with his deductions, leaving aside his usual drama and the snarky comments about Donovan and Anderson and then he fled the crime scene as fast as he could, running toward the safety of his flat. He only had had time to change his designer suit for pajama pants, a comfortable cotton shirt and his dark blue dressing gown before collapsing on the couch so he could enjoy his misery in peace.

The bright side of it was that his heat cycle usualy lasted only two days, three at most. By tomorrow afternoon he would be his usual self again. Hopefully.

Maybe Sherlock should download one of those mobile apps designed to calculate the cycle and warn you when a heat was coming. That would be very useful for him and it would prevent things like this from happening again.

Sherlock buried his face on the sofa cushion and tried to block the pain again. He must have fallen asleep at some point, because he was startled wake by a sharp knock on the front door and when he looked in the direction of the window, it was dark outside.

 _"Holmes!"_ Sherlock heard a voice coming from the hall just outside the door, and even though it was muffled, there was no mistake that his landlord, Rupert Jensen, sounded very displeased. _"Are you in there?!"_

"My God! Has everyone decided to bother me today?" Sherlock muttered to himself, changing his position on the couch so his back was facing the door. Maybe if he ignored his Landlord as he had done with his cell phone he would leave.

 _"I’ve heard that!"_ Rupert said, sounding decidedly pissed.

"No, you didn't!" Sherlock said loudly over his shoulder, because he couldn’t help being a petulant git.

 _"Very funny, Holmes, very funny!"_ Oddly enough, his voice did not sound amused. _"I just came by to remind you that your rent was due yesterday! Where's my money?!"_

Sherlock rolled his eyes and huffed in annoyance. Usually when he was investigating an interesting case he simply couldn't bring himself to care about mundane things such as eating, sleeping... paying the rent. It was so tedious. Unfortunately, his landlord did not seem to understand that there were more important things to worry about. But he needed the flat. If he wanted to have a roof over his head for the near future he would have to be _diplomatic_ and talk to his landlord. Uh, just the thought of that send chills running down his spine, but he needed to keep the flat.

God forbid moving back in with Mycroft.

“All right, wait a minute.” the Omega said, defeated.

With a long suffering grunt, the Omega rose from the couch. If he was going to face his landlord - his Alpha landlord, no less - he would have to be prepared. Before opening the door of the flat, Sherlock first went to his bedroom. He approached the nightstand beside the bed and from the top drawer he took a vial of his _'Beta Cologne',_ which was a mix of beta pheromones, used to conceal its natural omega scent. He sprayed a little around the living room and a lot over himself. He knew that his scent was not as strong as it should have been for an Omega in heat because he had been on suppressants for too long, but he did not want to take any chances. His landlord was an alpha after all, and he did not want any accidents to happen.

Sherlock tied the belt of his dark blue dressing gown tightly around his waist and ran his hand through his dark curls in an attempt to look a little more presentable and a little less like he had been ran over by a bus. He took a deep breath and stamped one of his charming smiles before opening the door, just a little, to talk to man on the other side. The rusty door chain was doing a poor job of giving him a sense of security, but it would have to do.

Rupert Jensen was a middle-aged Alpha who despite the wrinkles on his face, was still tall and strong. His graying hair was cut very short, and his dark blue eyes glared at Sherlock. His alpha nature very clear and screaming dominance. His shirt had a stain that Sherlock did not want to deduce what it was, and he reeked of cheap cigarettes and beer. But above it all, Rupert reeked of Alpha: musky, pungent and unpleasant.

Sherlock held back the urge to throw up.

"Good evening, Mr. Jensen..." Sherlock began, but he was interrupted by the angry alpha.

"Do you have the money?" The man asked sharply, looking at the Omega with contempt.

"I do, but it's not with me right now. I should have went to the bank yesterday, but I’ve been so busy lately and the thought just slipped my mind…” In fact, he would have to call Mycroft to ask for money that was actually his. It was humiliating and Sherlock was not looking forward to it.

"I've already heard that excuse before, Holmes, and I'm tired of it!" Rupert said, clearly unimpressed.

“If you could come back tomorrow afternoon, I'll pay you what I owe you and some more for the trouble..."

"You will give me the money, now, or you will leave this flat, even if it means I’ll have to kick your ass out of here!" The alpha threatened.

Oh, Sherlock was really trying to be polite, but the idiot asked for it.

"We both know you're not going to evict me because, of the three tenants you have in this lovely building of yours, I'm the only one who might really pay you at some point, considering that the alpha who lives on the second floor has already spent all the money he stole from the grocery store around the corner and the beta girl on the fourth floor is going to move in with her boyfriend. She’s packing her things right now, as quietly as possible so she can flee, without paying you the two months of rent she owes you." Sherlock couldn't help but shoot his deductions.

"What...?"

"Actually, I don't know if she owes you anything, since you’ve proposed some very... _creative_ way for her to pay you. And judging by the sounds coming from your flat soon after you invited her in, I’d thought you two had made a deal."

"You bastard..." Rupert sputtered in indignation. Sherlock sighed.

"Really, can we not have this conversation right now? Now is not a good time. I'm feeling a bit... indisposed."

"What the fuck...?" Confused, Rupert looked Sherlock up and down and then he sniffed the air, catching Sherlock's scent. "Oh..."

Sherlock saw the exact moment when his Landlord caught his true scent. He saw the gleam in Rupert's eyes change completely, from a murderous one to a hungry one, and it sent chills down the omega's spine. He had hoped that the Beta Cologne that he had sprayed all over the flat would have masked his scent, but apparently he was wrong.

"So," drawled the alpha "is there something you forgot to mention on your lease contract, _Sherlone_?”

"It's Sherlock." The omega snapped.

"Whatever." The Alpha leaned against the doorframe. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I thought that Omegas could not live alone. It's the law."

"It's a stupid law." Sherlock spat, defiantly.

"It may be, but I’m a decent citizen, I don’t want to get in trouble because of that." He smiled.

"Who would have thought it." Sherlock mumbled sarcastically.

"Look, I'm a reasonable guy, and you… you're a nice lad." Rupert tottaly missed Sherlock's eyeroll.

"What do you mean?"

"I think we can make a deal..." Rupert looked at Sherlock with the most filthy look the omega had ever seen and proceeded to rub his _alpha male parts_ through his trousers suggestively. “I know you want it.”

"Oh God, No!" Sherlock thought, mortified. He really wanted to know who had been the bastard who came up with this ridiculous notion that all omegas turned into lust-driven beasts during the heat. For Sherlock, it was quite the opposite. He was in a foul mood and with terrible cramps. He was wearing sanitary pads for god's sake! He didn't want anything anywhere near his omega parts, especially anything that belonged to his Landlord. _Eww_. Just the thought of it made his skin crawl.

Of course, the heat was the most fertile period if an omega wanted to get pregnant, and the presence and scent of a trusted alpha could ease the pain of the cramps and soothe an omega. It was about trust and comfort and bonding with their mate, but that was all about it. The movies and books where the omega became a mindless, almost zombie-like creature during the heat who would let every single alpha in the vicinity to fuck them was ridiculous and even a little bit funny, but it was a myth that people believed and used as an excuse for their own perverted urges.

Ugh, people were so dull.

"Not interested." Sherlock said, trying not to show the disgust he felt.

"Don’t be like that, of course you are. I can smell it on you." The alpha insisted.

"Okay, so let me rephrase it in a way that you'll understand. _Fuck off!"_ Sherlock said quickly, making a point by trying to slam the door closed, expecting the alpha would get the hint and go away so he could return to the comfort of his couch to spend the rest of his heat in peace.

 

One thing that he was not expecting, though, was that the Alpha would not be moved so easily, and that he would put his foot between the door and the doorframe, preventing Sherlock from closing the door completely.

For a brief moment, their eyes met and Sherlock could see with total clarity that the alpha's predatory instinct had been triggered by the scent of an omega in heat and the prospect of chasing that Sherlock had raised when he had refused him.

The eyes of the alpha flashed red.

_“Damn it!”_

At that moment, Sherlock knew he had made a terrible mistake when he had opened that door.

****

It was already dark, maybe eight o'clock, when Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade parked his car in front of a four-story building in Montague Street. It was raining outside. Through the fogged windshield, he could see people walking on the sidewalk carrying umbrellas to protect them from the rain, and only then, he noticed he had forgotten his brolly at the station.

Brilliant.

Deciding that he would wait until the rain had diminished at least bit, the brown eyed Beta sighed tiredly and closed his eyes, letting his head fall back against the headrest of the seat.

It had been a terribly stressful day. It had all started with one of the best officers of his team telling him that she would quit her job. The Beta was getting married and she would move to Manchester with her husband. The D.I. was happy for her, but he knew it would be hard to find a suitable replacement for his team. Then, he missed lunch because there had been a small riot in the cell block at the station and everyone had been called to help. Disturbance Control was definitely not his division, but he was a Beta, therefore, he could pacify any situation, even those involving Alphas.

It had been a mess, nonetheless.

As if that weren't enough, his superiors were breathing down his neck, demanding results, and really, he was getting tired of it.

Don't get him wrong, Greg loved his job. It has been sixteen years since he had become a police officer and he couldn’t imagine himself doing anything else. As a Beta, Greg wouldn't put up with anyone’s bullshit - especially from alphas - and he was immune to the tempting scent of an omega. He was neutral. He could handle stress situations with a clear head, and that made him a great cop. But sometimes it seemed that his superiors demanded more of him because he was a Beta in a leading position that was usually given to Alphas. He had to keep proving himself constantly, and it was so tiring.

 _'I need a cigarette'_ Greg thought while rubbing his aching temples. These ridiculous nicotine patches were doing a poor job on quelling the craving of having deadly smoke filling his lungs. And who had that brilliant idea of quit smoking, anyway? Oh yeah, _Sherlock_. Sherlock decided to quit smoking and Greg had decided to join in to support him.

Would Sherlock notice if he cheated and smoked just one cigarette? Of course he would, he was Sherlock _bloody_ Holmes. The guy could deduce your entire life from the cuticles of your nails. Greg shook his head fondly, thinking of the young man he considered like a younger brother.

It has been five years since the young Beta had showed up on a crime scene for the first time. Sherlock came out of nowhere, high as a kite, shooting his deductions for everyone who wanted - and did not want - to listen and solved a crime he and his team had spent weeks trying to unravel. Greg was in equal parts confused, startled, surprised and bewitched by the Beta with dark curled hair and piercing blue eyes who wore a ridiculous Belstaff coat in the spring. The second time it happened, Greg was torn between letting the genius into the crime scene or sending him away, because it was completely against the rules to have a civilian helping the police. But Greg needed him, and it seemed like Sherlock needed to be there just as much.

Since then, they've been a constant presence in each other's lives. Sherlock used his incredible ability to help Scotland Yard to solve crimes and Greg tried to keep the young Beta on the line, away from drugs and trouble. That was not an easy job and Greg felt like he was getting too old for this.

But he liked Sherlock, and he worried about him.

That's why Greg had come to Montague street that night after work. There was something wrong with Sherlock, he could tell. The young Beta had seemed a bit off yesterday, distracted and anxious and knowing Sherlock as he knew him, Greg knew it was not a good sign. He did not want to jump into conclusions and say that Sherlock had had a relapse with his drug problem, but the silver-haired Beta had seen that film before. Too many times.

After another a weary sigh, Greg opened his eyes and looked toward the passenger seat. There was a stack of files containing cold cases that had been accumulating on his desk for the past month, and Greg decided that now would be a good moment to bring it to Sherlock. It was not unusual for Greg to stop by Sherlock's flat, bringing the files with unsolved cases for the young beta when he started to complain that boredom would eventually kill him, boredom that usually started only five minutes after solving a case. It wasn’t much, but it would keep his mind busy. And Greg could really use the help. Those were cases that actually needed to be reviewed, but it was also a good excuse for Greg to check up on him without looking like a mother hen. He knew how Sherlock hated it.

He looked out through the window. Accepting that the rain would not relent anytime soon, Greg took a deep breath, grabbed the files and climbed out of the car, closing the door behind him with a thud. He hid the files beneath his dark coat so they would not be damaged by the water, then he ran across the street. By the time he reached the entrance of Sherlock's building, his coat and his gray hair were completely soaked by the rain and he was shivering from the cold. The D.I. shook his head and rubbed his short hair to get rid of some of the water, huffing in irritation. He wished Sherlock would have a dry towel and a hot cup of tea waiting for him upstairs, but he knew better.

Knowing that the front door of the building would be unlocked, Greg let himself in and started to climb the flights of stairs leading to the third floor, where the young beta lived. Greg considered having another talk with Sherlock about the non-existent security of the place, but he had a feeling it would go just like the previous one, with Sherlock pointing out - screaming, actually - that Greg was not his Alpha and that it wasn’t any of his business. So he dismissed the idea.

When Greg arrived on the third floor he was panting and mentally cursing the Beta for not having rented the flat on the first floor. He had just set foot in the corridor that led to Sherlock's flat, and while he was trying to pull precious oxygen into his lungs - he was really getting too old for this - he was startled to catch a scent that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. It was a very distinctive scent, he would usually catch it in very specific crime scenes. It was acrid, like a basket full of rotten fruits. The scent of an Omega in distress. It was very strong and very close.

"Get off me!" Greg heard someone screaming.

He had no time to wonder who the omega was. The Beta sniffed the air and, without thinking twice, ran towards Sherlock's door, which was wide open. He stopped abruptly in the doorway, letting the files with the cold cases fall from his hands, paralyzed by the horrible scent that hit him full force and the scene that unfolded before him.

There was a man, an aggressive alpha at that, pinning Sherlock on the couch. The alpha had him lying face down, and he was twisting Sherlock's right arm behind him at the same time he was trying to divest the young man of his pajama pants. He was fighting though, kicking and squirming and trying to extricate himself from the Alphas's hold.

Suddenly, Sherlock looked directly at Greg. In addition to the expression of fear on his face, Greg saw that his eyes were glowing blue, and the beta had no doubt that the smell of rotten fruit was coming from him. Sherlock was the Omega.

Sherlock.Was.An.Omega.

Bloody hell.

But Greg had no time to mull about the fact that Sherlock had lied all these years about his gender. An aggressive alpha was about to cause serious harm to an Omega and he could not let that happen.

"Hey! Get off of him and step back!" Greg yelled, drawing the alpha's attention who, now he noticed, was Sherlock's Landlord, Rupert... something.

The Alpha looked at Greg who was slowly making his way into the flat. His eyes were glowing red, his lips curled in a snarl, he was totally taken by instinct of claiming the omega that was obviously in heat.

"Get out!" Rupert growled, clearly a warning for Greg to leave.

It was highly recommended not to disturb an Alpha and an Omega during the heat. The alpha became completely taken by the instinct of dominance and anyone who came close would be considered a threat that the alpha would feel compelled to eliminate. But Greg's own instinct to protect the Omega in distress spoke louder.

The beta reached inside his coat and took his gun, aiming it directly at the alpha's chest.

"I said," Greg's voice was calm and deep and his eyes glowed golden. "get off him and step back _. Now_."

The alpha looked at him and smirked.

"Uh, he has a gun." Rupert scoffed. "And what if I don’t want to? What are you going to do? Shoot me?" He tightened his grip on the omega’s arm, who cried helplessly.

"AAHHH!"

"Actually, yes." Greg lowered the gun until it was level with the alpha’s leg and fired, hitting him in the calf.

The Alpha fell to the ground screaming in pain. Once Sherlock was free he scrambled to his feet and away from where his landlord had fallen down, bleeding on the carpet, choosing to huddle in a corner of the living room with his back to the wall. In a flash, Greg was on him, checking if the Omega was all right. His eyes were still glowing golden.

"Sherlock? God. Are you okay?" Greg asked worriedly. The omega's nose was bleeding, so Greg tilted his head back so he could see it better. "Did he hurt you? Did he...?" he stammered.

"I'm fine." Sherlock said with a nasal voice. "You got here just in time. Impressive."

It seemed like that bastard had broken Sherlock's nose, but otherwise he seemed unharmed. Greg let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding, feeling relieved. The Omega smiled, but Greg could tell he was still shaken, if the smell in the air was anything to go by.

Greg closed his eyes for a second and released a little bit more of his Beta scent - it was woody and clean and minty, like a forest after the rain has fallen - and this had an immediate effect on the omega: Sherlock let out a shuddering sigh and stopped shaking, becoming visibly calmer. Even the scent of his distress seemed to fade a bit.

"You’ve shot me, you fucker! I'm going to call the police!" Rupert said angrily, drawing Greg's attention who reluctantly left the Omega's side to walk toward the wounded Alpha.

" _I am_ the police, you bastard. You want to call _me_? I'm right here." Greg growled.

Greg grabbed the alpha by the collar and dragged him to the other side of the flat where there was and old heating system with its pipes protruding out of the wall.

"Oi! My leg!" the alpha protested.

"Shut up!" Greg replied, unmoved.

Form the inside pocket of his coat, Greg took the handcuffs he always carried with him and knelt beside the alpha before snapping one end of the metallic device around the alpha's right wrist, the other he secured around one of the pipes. Roughly, Greg checked Rupert's injured leg, realizing then that the bullet had just grazed the flesh. Sherlock's nose was much worse.

"I'm pressing charges against you, you son of a bitch!" Rupert snapped angrily.

"Oh, you do it." Greg challenged. "I’m dying to see if they will give any credit to a rapist like you."

Rupert's face turned pale.

"Hey, I did not..."

"You almost did, and to me it’s the same thing." Greg spat. "Now you're going to behave and sit there until the paramedics arrive to see to your leg and then we’ll take you to the police station."

With a look of pure contempt toward Rupert, Greg got up and walked back to Sherlock who had moved again to the couch. He had his head tilted back and was trying to block the flow of blood from his nose with the sleeve of his dressing gown. The smell of rotten fruit was fading now, being replaced by the usual floral scent of an omega and Greg felt the tension of the last few minutes start leaving his shoulders.

The Beta sat beside Sherlock and gently pulled his hand away from his face so he would be able to check it again. It was definitely broken.

"So," Greg said lamely, breaking the heavy silence that suddenly fell upon the living room. "You’re an Omega, huh?"

"Shut up." Sherlock grumbled but there was no venom in his words. Greg chuckled.

"I'll have to call an ambulance for you and for our little friend over there." Greg said and Sherlock groaned dramatically

"Is this really necessary?"

"If you don’t want to sound like a whistle every time you breathe, then yes, it is necessary." Greg said annoyed. "Git."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but nodded, after all, there was nothing left to do. Greg mused that Sherlock was not going to like what he was about to say.

"You know I'll have to call him, don’t you?"

Sherlock groaned and started to get up from the couch, but Greg grabbed the sleeve of his dressing gown and pulled him back, making Sherlock fall on the couch with an indignant huff.

"I'm not having any of that. He has to know what happened and you know it." Greg said.

Sherlock just pouted and turned his head to the side like a petulant child.

"I can already imagine the smug smile on his face. He is going to say 'I told you so'. He had been waiting for this moment since I’ve left his house."

"No, he is not like that and you should know better. He is your brother and he cares about you. Both of us." Greg said, hoping his words would get in that thick head of his.

Sherlock stared at Greg for a moment, looking somewhat surprised by these words. He was silent for a while, but then sighed and nodded, averting his gaze.

"I suppose I will not be able to help you with cases anymore, now that you know I'm not a beta." Sherlock said and Greg felt his heart clenching when he heard the hint of sadness the omega tried not to let show in his words.

"Look, let's take care of that nose. Get some rest, then we’ll talk. Okay?" Greg proposed and it was the best he could now.

"Okay." Sherlock said, but he did not seem excited.

God. Greg was really getting too old for this...

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much for reading, please, leave a comment down bellow


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